


Apply Pressure

by dirigibleplumbing



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Nicknames, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Rope Bondage, Sub Steve Rogers, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 14:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20047279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/pseuds/dirigibleplumbing
Summary: Steve has trouble concentrating and clearing his mind. Tony and some rope are there to help out.





	Apply Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> For the “captivity” square of my Stony bingo.

Steve doesn’t hesitate at the threshold of Tony’s workshop, but it’s a near thing.

Tony’s smile at seeing Steve, spreading like a sunset over an evening sky, is all the encouragement Steve needs. “Hey, big guy,” Tony says, setting down some sort of laser tool Steve doesn’t recognize. “I thought you had all that paperwork.” 

He doesn’t sound like he minds the interruption, but Steve can’t help feeling guilty. 

He’d  _ tried _ to work on his reports. He’d spread everything out on his desk. Plugged in and opened up the little laptop Tony customized for him. Stared at the papers. Stared at the screen. Taken a break, thinking an hour in the gym would clear his mind. After three hours in the gym, a thirty-minute jog around the neighborhood, and a brief shower, he’d moved his paperwork into Tony’s room, hoping a change of scenery would help. 

He’d spread everything out on Tony’s desk. Turned on the computer. Stared at the papers. Stared at the screen. And, still shaking water from his hair, come down here. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t happening,” Steve replies. 

“Oh, honey bunches,” Tony says, standing up, stuffing his gloves in a jeans pocket, and cupping Steve’s jaw with his warm, rough hands. “Is it really as bad as all that?” 

Steve huffs. Tony can read him so easily. He notices his hands are clenched into fists, forces himself to relax them. “I was thinking about how nice it would be if you could tie me up and fuck me.” At Tony’s sympathetic wince, Steve continues, “Which I know we can’t right now. We both have deadlines. But then I remembered our talk about—well.” 

Tony clicks his tongue, a mix of disapproval and coaxing, like Steve is a spooked horse. “C’mon apple slice, what’s that about? You can say ‘tie me up and fuck me,’ but not this?” 

Steve chuckles. He lets his head fall forward, so his forehead is resting against Tony’s. His eyes fall shut with the movement, as if they’re on gyroscopes like a doll’s. It’s easier to say it this way. “About non-sexual bondage and that stuff?” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony says, voice rough and crooning, “Would that help? Get you out of your head?” 

“I think so,” Steve replies. He’s already softening his voice, breathing deeper, sinking into a submissive headspace. He opens his eyes, looking up at Tony through his lashes. 

“You don’t want me to just  _ order _ you to do your paperwork,” Tony muses. 

Steve shakes his head. 

“No, you already feel obligated, don’t you? Anxious. Geeze, honey blossom, you’re all wound up with it, aren’t you?” This question is punctuated by Tony’s hands falling on Steve’s shoulders and beginning to work into the tight, tense muscles there. 

Steve sighs into the touch and nods. 

“You want to be tied up?” Tony asks. He’d been working on something when Steve had come in. Had been right in the thick of it, judging by all the brightly-lit screens and disassembled parts crowding his workstation. His project is more urgent—or at least has more riding on it, especially financially—than Steve’s paperwork. But he’s dropped everything to see to Steve. “Vulnerable? Trapped?” 

Steve swallows. “Please,” he manages. He has a long way to drop, yet, but the sound of Tony’s husky baritone, the grip of his strong hands on Steve’s shoulders, goes a long way to helping Steve fall. 

“You got it, Captain Handsome. You go ahead and get whatever you need for your paperwork and get comfy somewhere, okay? I’ll get the rope.” Tony considers. “Or do you want to be really restrained? I can get the adamantium—” 

“Rope,” Steve says. “Rope is good.” 

Tony smiles and sparkles and shines. “Sure thing, angel eyes. Anything you want.” 

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” 

Tony shrugs. “Lots of ways to top someone. Lots of ways to be a sub, too. Doesn’t bother me. So, where’re you going to set up?” 

Steve bites his lip, staring at the floor. He doesn’t raise his head all the way when he looks up at Tony and says, “Is here okay? Will it bother you?” 

“Not at all,” Tony assures him, tucking a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear. “Okay. See you in five?” 

Steve replies with a firm nod. 

Tony gives his ass a soft slap as Steve turns to go. “See you in a few, sweet cheeks,” Tony says, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he heads out. 

Steve grins to himself. That man. Steve adores him. 

Instead of the elevator, he heads to the stairwell, taking them two at a time. He still has an excess of nervous energy to burn off. 

Steve gets back to Tony’s workshop first. He shoves his favorite couch over—careful not to leave skid marks on the polished concrete, not that Tony would care—until it’s only a few feet from the workstation where he’d found Tony, then pulls a wheeled table up to it. He’s arranging himself and his papers when Tony comes in, clutching a bundle of rope. 

“How’s this?” Tony asks, proffering a curve of rope. 

The first thing Steve notices is the color: red. Iron Man red. He lets it rest against his palm. It’s soft, cotton probably, though there’s something shiny threaded into it, too, catching and refracting the light. “Perfect.” 

“Okay, Captain Handsome,” Tony says, eyes twinkling. “Ankles first.” 

Obligingly, Steve sticks his legs out in Tony’s direction. Tony settles onto the floor cross legged and begins untying and removing Steve’s sneakers. 

Steve begins to protest when Tony pulls off one of Steve’s socks. “You don’t wanna do that.” He wrinkles his nose. Tony already has his other sock off. “I must be all smelly.” 

“Shush. Don’t tell me what I wanna do,” Tony says, flicking Steve on the calf, then taking one foot into both hands and kneading at the arch. 

Steve lets his head fall back. “Oh,” he says. That feels good. Incredible. He hadn’t even noticed a particular ache in his feet—or anywhere else, seeing as he doesn’t get muscle cramps the way other people do, for the most part—but his nerves sing in relief at Tony’s touch. 

After a few minutes working the inside of Steve’s foot and spreading Steve’s toes with his fingers, Tony repeats the process on the other foot. Only then does he let both feet rest on his lap and start laying out a length of rope. 

Steve sighs the moment the rope touches his ankle. Something unwinds deep inside him. Tony’s attention on him is a balm. 

“There you go,” Tony says. He sounds pleased. Encouraging. 

Soon Steve’s ankles are pleasantly cuffed together by several thick rows of supple red rope. Tony finishes off his knot, then works a finger underneath to check the tightness. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Good,” Steve replies immediately. “So good.” 

“Not too tight? Wiggle your toes for me.” 

Steve obliges. 

“Thanks, love bug. You’re doing great,” Tony assures him, getting to his feet. 

Steve basks in the praise. A bright, loose calm suffuses him. 

“Really great,” Tony says, his face now inches from Steve’s own, his breath warm and sweet on Steve’s skin. 

Steve loves doing well for Tony. It’s one of the best things, he thinks. Anticipating what’s next, he lifts one arm, offering Tony his wrist. 

“Thank you,” Tony says. He begins looping another length of rope around it, then the other, leaving a space of several feet in the rope between them so that Steve is bound, but still able to separate his hands to write, type, and move his papers. 

Steve watches Tony work, enjoying the precise, gentle movements of his fingers. The weight of Tony’s attention. The snug fit of the rope at his ankles and wrists. 

Soon both wrists are knotted and tested for looseness. Tony steps back, inspecting his work. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this.” 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, knowing it’s needy, but wanting more, always more, more of Tony’s attention. “Like what?” 

“Like you’re mine.”

“I am,” Steve tells him. 

Tony’s answering gaze is awestruck, wondering. “You really are, huh?” he asks, softly. He leans down and presses a soft, chaste kiss to Steve’s lips. 

Steve kisses back, leans forward and chases Tony when he retreats. 

Tony shushes him, running a hand through his hair. It’s still damp from the shower earlier, and curling the tiniest bit at the tips. “You good to work now?” 

Steve finds that he is. He gives a firm nod. 

“I’ll be right here if you need me. Anything I can get you for now? Water? A snack?” 

“I’m fine, Tony,” Steve says, arranging his papers again and looking up at Tony with a wry, fond smile. 

Tony grins back, slightly abashed. He glances back at Steve as he makes his way back to his workstation. It’s not long before his screens are up again. He pulls on one glove, then the other, takes up the little tool he’d had before, and returns to the metal and circuitry before him. 

Steve feels settled. Serene. Words come effortlessly to his mind. The text in front of him is clear and straightforward. He works to the shuffling and sizzling sounds of Tony’s steady activity. 

Every so often, Steve glances up to watch Tony. Tony pulls off one glove with his teeth and types something onto the screen with his bare fingertips. Tony pulls a welding mask over his already-mussed hair and spends some minutes shooting bright sparks from his torch, filling the air with the scent of iron oxides and argon. Tony opens a slender drawer from a nearby metal case of them, selects a tool from his carefully arranged collection. Tony notices Steve’s gaze, and turns to meet it with a tender smile. 

They work that way for several hours. Steve makes a sizeable dent in his stack of paperwork, and his files are actually in some semblance of sorted order. Tony moves on from his first project to do something to what looks like an engine, and then typing and reading code that scrolls and highlights on his many screens. 

When Steve looks up again, Tony is perched on the armrest beside him, sipping coffee from a Captain America mug. There’s a fresh bottle of water sitting by Steve’s hand, still foggy with cold from the fridge. “Hey, sweetheart,” Tony murmurs. “How’s it going?” 

“Good,” Steve says, reaching for the bottle and uncapping it. He gulps down a long swig. “So much better than before.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tony says, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I’m done for the night. How much do you have left?” 

Steve chews on his bottom lip. “I’m about halfway done, I think? A little more than that, maybe. I can stop now, though.” 

“No, no, you’re doing great. Mind if I keep you company, though?” 

“I’d love that, Tony,” Steve says. 

Tony grins at that, sunshine-bright and full of affection. He walks around Steve’s table and then sinks into the couch. He hums to himself as he nestles against Steve’s side. “I won’t distract you?” 

“No more than you already were,” Steve replies, a playful chastisement in his voice. Even outside of a purely sexual context, the contact of the ropes—and now of Tony, too—flood him with a soft, gentle pleasure. There’s a not-insignificant heat pooling in his groin, too, a steady thrum he’s felt since Tony began untying his shoes, threatening to build to arousal if prodded. 

“I might fall asleep,” Tony warns. “Except—damn, that’s not safe—I could untie you now—” 

“I can untie them myself, dollface,” Steve reminds him, lifting his wrists and holding them apart to show how far apart the rope will let them. A comforting tug answers as the knots are pulled to their limit. “Or break them, if I have to.” He prefers to have Tony untie them, to have the responsibility for the rope and Steve’s bondage entirely in Tony’s hands, but if something really incapacitates Tony, they’ll be fine. He doubts it will come to that; if Tony does drift off, Steve will just wake him. 

“Okay,” Tony agrees after a moment’s thought. He lets his head fall onto Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve presses a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “Thanks for your help tonight.” 

Tony’s voice is drowsy and so, so dear as he says, “Anything for you, darling. Anything.” 

The thing is, Steve thinks he means it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [on Tumblr](http://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/). And a [post for the fic](https://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/post/186665253372/apply-pressure-dirigibleplumbing-marvel).


End file.
